


Of Scarves and New Scars

by Legendaerie



Series: Spell It Out [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Implied Eye Trauma, Magic Can't Fix Everything, Mild Blood and Gore, a butchery of proper Qudditch, other characters mentioned briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:24:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5859658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/Legendaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a lovely day for flying. Or at least, it starts out that way.</p><p>(set around sixth year)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Scarves and New Scars

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third week in a row I've posted in the Yorkalina Tag. I'm sorry. I swear I'm not usually this productive.
> 
> Also, mild liberties taken with HP in-universe rules to comply with RvB canon.

The sky above the quidditch pitch is an impossibly clear blue vault, like a satin sheet arched over the countryside, and Carolina eyes the broom beside her in the quidditch stands. Yes, she’d just spent a good couple hours practicing with the rest of the Slytherin team, and desperately needs to finished her Astrology essay, but it’s probably one of the last good days in September for flying before it gets grey and cold. It’s… tempting to fly anyway.

Before she caves, however, she hears the faint sound of voices. Carolina sits up, gathering her things preemptively; she can pick out a few Gryffindors - Maine is unmistakable, even from a distance - and some Ravenclaws. Plus one very familiar Hufflepuff, who seems to spot her at the same time and waves with exaggerated, pleased movements. Carefully emoting a roll of her eyes, Carolina waves back at York.

A small discussion breaks out on the ground, but as Carolina starts to identify familiar faces she realises it’s just a collection of sixth and seventh years. They probably won’t mind if she sticks around and watches.

Studies, she means. Studies. She cracks her book open again and all but forces her head down to work. She does plenty of flying as the Slytherin Seeker, anyway.

She’s hardly made her way through three dense paragraphs before York comes swooping up on his broom, hovering several feet in front of her. “Hey, Carolina,” and she can hear the grin in his voice. Lowering her book, she lets her mouth twist in a more subdued reflection of his smile.

“York,” she greets, raising one hand to shelter her eyes from the sun. The wind catches York’s scarf, smacking him in the arm with it before he wrestles it off his neck.

“Busy studying?” he asks, cocking his head and nodding at her lap.

“Sadly, yes.” She glances past him to the ground, where Maine is hefting his Beater’s bat, and doesn’t envy York anymore. “I feel like I might have made the smarter choice between the two of us, though.”

“You usually do. Would you mind holding this, then?” York balls his scarf up; Carolina sets aside her book with a long-suffering sigh and holds out her hand. His toss is easy, and she ends up with a handful of still-warm knitted scarf. “I trust you to take good care of it.”

Carolina rolls her eyes but can’t entirely keep a straight face as she folds up his scarf and sets it on the stand next to her. Worst case, it might be good to have York owe her a favor, and she wasn’t planning on heading in for a while, anyway. “Have fun out there.”

“I will. Maybe some other time, you’ll join me?”

She picks her book up once more, signaling an end to their conversation. “Maybe.”

Satisfied, he flies back to rejoin his little group, and she loses herself in her homework.

Between paragraphs, she finds herself looking up and watching the players. It’s a casual match - only a couple Chasers and a Beater for each team - and most of them don’t play for their house teams anyway. That being said, York is a decent Chaser, as is the seventh year Wyoming; and yet the blond-haired Gryffindor on the other side is putting them to absolute shame.

Putting all of them to shame, actually. Caroline feels a cold prickle of unease creep up the back of her neck, and she pulls a pair of stadium glasses from under the seats to get a better view of the players. It’s York and Wyoming as Chasers on Maine’s side against a beater she thinks might be O’Malley, and…

Sure enough, the other Chaser is the recent transfer student Texas; the Gryffindor's darling, a star Seeker and climbing fast to the top of all her classes. Including Defense Against the Dark Arts, which she shares with Carolina and which Carolina always considered her personal speciality. She grits her teeth and finds herself rooting twice as hard for York’s side to win, if only to beat Texas in something.

Her enthusiasm at watching drops off after that, and Carolina leans back in the stiff stadium seating and loses herself in her homework. Sure, she looks up occasionally, but it’s just to check the scoreboard and feel her heart sink with each point Texas’ side scores. At least it’ll be several weeks before Slytherin and Gryffindor play each other for real.

Unfortunately, the match seems to draw the attention of other students anyway, and a small crowd begins to accumulate like condensation on a cool glass in summer. Several pages into a horrifically dense passage on the naming system of stars, Washington shuffles his way up the bleachers to join her.

“You out here to watch Texas, too?” he asks.

“I was out here to study,” Carolina replies coldly - figuratively and literally, since a chill is starting to sink in and York’s scarf is rather tempting to drape across her lap. “Texas seems to be drawing quite a crowd.” The mere fact that her side is understaffed and apparently still winning would be enough to draw anyone, but Carolina doesn’t much care for Texas. To put it mildly.

“She’s amazing! I’ve never seen a faster Seek-- um,” and Washington suddenly becomes preoccupied with staring at his shoes. Carolina glances skyward, green eyes skipping between players until she catches sight of York. He’s looking a little worn out by now, and very occupied. Assured in the idea that he won’t notice, she lays his scarf across her lap in carefully engineered folds until her legs are covered by a little gold-and-black blanket. She feels warmer almost immediately, and resumes studying as best as she can.

Halfway through her next paragraph, Washington says something in a low, concerned tone. “What?” Carolina snaps.

“I said, that Bludger looks extra fast.” He points, and Carolina has trouble finding the ball at first. “Isn’t hexing the balls illegal?”

“It’s not an official match,” Carolina reminds him, her Seeker’s eyes finally latching onto the Bludger and tracking its progress. With every hit, it seems to be speeding up - by now, it’s at a bone-shattering speed. Carolina fights the urge to reach for her wand. At that speed, being hit could seriously injure someone. Maybe even kill.

“Still.” Washington sounds unconvinced. Carolina shifts uncomfortably on the bench, blinking in the harsh sunlight.

O’Malley hits the Bludger with a ferocious crack towards the back of York’s head. The Hufflepuff turns, there’s a shout and a bright flash of magic; and then York’s limp body clips the edge of a goal hoop on its way to the ground, where he lands with a sickening sound of breaking bones.

Someone shouts his name, and Carolina’s on her broom faster than conscious thought. Her heart is racing and somehow also in the back of her throat as she blazes towards the pitch; her feet touch down on the turf and she sprints to where York is laying on his side, surrounded by pieces of shattered Bludger and the faint scent of blood and magical smoke.

“York?” she chokes, kneeling beside him. She’s afraid to touch him and hurt him, but more afraid not to and discover him dead. Carolina presses cold fingers to the right side of his neck, urgent and terrified, and finds the flicker of a pulse.

Movement above her catches her eye; Texas is putting away her wand, nodding stiffly and flying off in the direction of the school as the rest of the players hover uncomfortably. Looking at Carolina.

“Wyoming,” she snaps, and the Ravenclaw student holds her gaze, “get Price out here as fast as you can. Maine, O’Malley, catch the other Bludger before it kills somebody.”

All three boys swoop off according to her orders, and Carolina turns her attention back to York. His left side is a mess - she thinks she can see bone sticking out of his shoulder, which had plowed into the turf, and his face…

He stirs, mouth parting around a low groan. A thin trickle of blood creeps out of the corner of his mouth; then his teeth flash as he sucks in a sharp, agonized breath.

“York, can you hear me? Just-- hold on, all right?” Fumbling briefly, she finds his right hand and gives it a squeeze.

“'Lina?” he asks, jaw still clenched. His breathing is starting to stutter, body tense with pain. “I can’t--”

“It’s me. Hold still, and just… breathe slowly.” She doesn’t have any serious training in medical spells and isn’t about to try, but she squeezes his hand again. This time, he squeezes back and forces a small smile. His breathing shudders, but he seems to be taking efforts to calm down.

Around them, the other students are starting to gather and gossip.

“What happened?”

“--Bludger was hexed, didn’t you--”

“--Texas could have blown his head off, destroying that so close to--”

“--they’ll get expelled?”

“Oh, god, look at his--”

Aiden Price appears on the scene at last, Wyoming at his heels. “Out of the way, everyone-- you too, miss Carolina,” the healer commands, addressing Carolina in a slightly softer tone. “I’ve got to get him to the infirmary immediately.”

Carolina rubs her thumb across the edge of York’s hand as she pulls them apart, and she tries not to notice how he winces when his hand drops. She feels colder with the distance between them, and wishes bitterly that she’d done something sooner. Noticed the hexed Bludger sooner, maybe thrown up a Shield charm to protect York, just-- _anything_ other than sit there and let that happen to him.

Price performs a careful charm that lifts York’s body off the ground - even with the magical support, York’s body shudders with pain as he’s moved, left shoulder sagging at an awkward angle and blood dripping from his face to spatter the grass. There are deep, deep gashes from his brow nearly to his jawline, and his eye is obscured in a mess of blood and what looks like remains of the Bludger. All this Carolina takes in within the space of a moment, because Price is already moving across the lawn, swift and steady with York floating behind him; she hesitates.

Washington appears suddenly, holding her books and York’s scarf. “Go. I’ll take your things back to the common room.”

“No, I’ll just--” she swallows, blinking hard in the sunlight and taking the bundle back from Washington. “I’d just be in the way.”

Carefully balancing herself back on her broom, Carolina flies back to the Slytherin broom shed to drop off her gear. Flinging the door open and carefully laying her homework on the lawn, she shoves her Nimbus into the row of brooms on the back wall, only for it to fall immediately. She tries it again, fiercely, and this time it stays.

Turning around, she almost runs into Washington. “What?” she demands, again, feeling tense and awful all over.

“Carolina,” he starts, in a tone of voice he probably picked up from North, “it’s okay if you want to be with York--”

“It’s not,” she cuts him off. Washington stares at her, stepping back in the sunlight, and something horribly like pity flashes across his face. “I mean--” Carolina closes her eyes and composes herself. “I have homework to do. And I’d rather do that anyway then watch them pick-- pick pieces out--”

She has to take another breath, then two more. Her hands tremble as she picks up the books and the scarf and heads back into the castle, Washington at her heels. There are too many things she doesn’t want to think about, and York just happens right now to be most of them.

 

* * *

 

York doesn’t come to Potions the next day. At the end of her classes, Carolina takes it upon herself to bring him his homework, along with extra parchment and all of her notes from the day’s work. She trots up the stairs, materials clutched to her chest and a scowl darkening her features; one dark enough that a whole cloud of twittering, uncertain third-years outside the infirmary vanish when she appears at the top. Apparently, York is popular in his house. Unsurprising. Even she’ll admit he’s funny and charming at times.

But as soon as her hand touches the infirmary door, her self-important pride vanishes and she can’t bring herself to push it open. She’s afraid of what she’ll find; York lying still and unresponsive, York back to normal and teasing her for looking so worried, York surrounded by friends who give her the cold shoulder, York not there at all and having to explain hotly to Price why she came.

“Oh, grow a spine,” she mutters to herself and shoves the door open. Immediately, her eyes are drawn to the bed surrounded by kids in Hufflepuff scarves and she remembers, abruptly, the scarf draped beside her bed that she totally forgot to return. She recognises Grif and Kaikaina - North’s twin sister calls them The Blunder Siblings - and of course DuFresne who’s been volunteering here since third year.

But it’s York who sees her, a large wad of white bandages still covering his left eye and cheek. It’s York who smiles, just like he has every other day she’s known him. As she watches, Kaikaina shifts her lean across his lap - York winces as her elbow digs into his leg - to swat Grif.

“Look who it is.”

“Hmm? Oh, shit.” Despite his cursing, Grif doesn’t seem that alarmed at her presence. Then again, she can’t say she’s ever seen him alarmed at anything. “It’s her.”

“It’s me?” Carolina probes, avoiding eye contact with York as she approaches the bed, drawing herself up to her full height as she stares down the siblings. “What about me?”

“Oh, everyone’s terrified of you,” Kaikaina gushes, leaning more on York’s leg and making him shift uncomfortably. “Or they were until Texas showed up. Now everyone’s terrified of her.”

“Kaikaina,” York starts, voice tight.

“Hey, maybe you should hex someone so people are scared of you again!” Kaikaina continues, blithely, and Carolina’s grip tightens on her homework. The parchment edges start to buckle under her touch.

“Are you volunteering?” she asks icily, as York appeals to the next person with a muttered “Grif.”

“Volunteering for what?”

“Have you ever seen my sister listen to me?” Grif counters, settling back in his chair and picking up a box of candy from a pile beside York’s bed.

Carolina glares down at the younger Hufflepuff girl, scanning the cheerfully blank face for any hint of malicious guile. Her wand is a familiar shape at her hip, and itches to be pulled out. “Volunteering as an example.”

“Doc,” York pleads, and then DuFresne appears between both girls so fast Carolina could swear he Apperated.

“Kaikaina,” he starts, sweet and she swears wringing his hands, “do you want to taste-test potions with me?”

“Oh, I’d love to! I’ll swallow anything of yours!” Kaikaina gets up - York immediately reaches down to rub a spot on the top of his thigh - and follows the assistant away to the other side of the room. Which leaves Grif still watching Carolina with a mouthful of chocolate frog.

She ignores Grif and goes to York’s bedside table, still avoiding his eyes. “I brought you your homework from all the classes you missed today.”

“God, you sound like Simmons,” Grif laments around his candy frog. York clears his throat, and from the corner of her eye Carolina watches Grif roll his eyes and grab another couple boxes of sweets. “I’m leaving, sheesh.”

He trundles over to where DuFresne is keeping Kaikaina occupied, and Carolina turns back to her work. “I also brought my notes if you needed them,” she adds, lowering her voice.

“Thanks,” York says, and he sounds like he means it. She fidgets with the homework on the table for a moment longer, eyes drawn to York’s collarbones. There’s pink scars that she swears are fading slowly as she watches, and she tracks their paths up the side of his neck to where the bandage covers his eye.

“How is it?” she asks at last, taking Grif’s abandoned seat and avoiding the pile of sweets and cards. Well-wishes from his classmates, friends, and fellow Hufflepuffs. All she brought him was parchment. Guilt and something else churn in the pit of her stomach, like they had when she didn’t follow him to the infirmary. He would have brought her candy. Maybe even flowers.

York shrugs with his good shoulder. “They had to take me to St Mungo’s last night, after they checked everyone’s wands to see what spells were involved. Luckily nothing too complicated, but… Eyes are pretty hard to heal.”

“I can imagine,” Carolina confesses. And she _had_ been imagining what could have happened to him ever since he’d left the field, and none of them had been good. “How do… how do you feel?”

“Doesn’t hurt as bad any more,” he says lightly, but his smile stops before it reaches his eyes. “Price says he’ll let me out tomorrow.”

Carolina glances back down at his hand, mere inches from hers folded in her lap. She’s tempted to reach out like she did on the pitch, give him her hand to grip and hold onto, share in his pain the only way she could. “You’re not answering my question.”

York turns his head away from her, closing his good eye. “Aren’t I?”

“No. You aren’t.” This time she gives in to the urge and wraps her cool fingers around his palm. “Don’t make me hex it out of you.”

“You wouldn’t,” he starts, a smile creeping across his face and it feels like a victory to see that expression on his face again. “No, actually, I think you would. I’m still a little scared of you.”

“Only a little?” she presses.

York cracks his eye open, smile faltering as their gazes meet. “More than you know,” he says, voice dropping into a low whisper. His fingers tighten around her hand. She watches him swallow. “They don’t think I’ll be able to see properly out of it again.”

“Oh,” Carolina breathes, her voice just as soft, and she squeezes back.

“They were talking early this morning. Guess no one told them I was a really light sleeper.” His voice is light and casual but his grip is tight in her hand, like she’s his lifeline. “They’re trying to get ahold of a specialist in Morocco to see if she can help, but.”

“Yeah.” 

York runs his thumb along the side of her hand, mimicking her actions from the pitch. It feels oddly intimate, now that it's just them in their little corner of the Infirmary. “I owe Texas my life, though. If she hadn’t destroyed that Bludger…”

Carolina grits her teeth. He’s right, of course, but it just makes her feel worse about her own inaction. She glances back across the room. DuFresne is apparently trying to stop Kaikaina from drinking from a inky-black bottle, and she guesses it won’t be long until Price is dragged out of his office from their commotion.

“Well,” and she clears her throat, retracting her hand carefully. “I should be going. Do you want me to come back later and help you study? Just this once,” she warns.

“I’d like that.” York gives her another grin, then the sound of shattering glass makes him heave a long-suffering sigh. “Better run, Carolina.”

“Yep.” On silent feet she slips out the door, throwing one last glance over her shoulder as it closes. York’s eye has closed again, but his smile lingers. And so does hers.

 


End file.
